


in stillness, in sorrow (softly sighing lament)

by owilde



Series: lament [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Brief discussions of depression and anxiety, Fluffy Ending, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pre-Slash, Therapy, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, these boys have issues, they literally meet in a therapist's waiting room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 11:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9894188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owilde/pseuds/owilde
Summary: "Hey," the boy said abruptly. He looked up from his coffee cup, giving Raphael a hesitant smile. Or at least Raphael thought it was meant to be a smile – it mostly resembled a badly carved Halloween pumpkin with social anxiety.The boy kept looking at him, expecting a greeting in return. Raphael took a leap of faith and bowed down to social expectations. His therapist was going to be so proud."Um. Hi," he replied.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Ehhh it's a bit whatever but I haven't posted in a while, so. Here we are.
> 
> Contains discussions of mental health issues and death.
> 
> Title taken from Ultravox's " _Lament_."

**i.**

Raphael stared at the boy who was monotonically gazing into the contents of his coffee cup with mild interest. Mild, because he was tired after another insomniac night; interest, because the boy was new – or at least Raphael had never seen him before. ' _Symons'_ was written on the side of the cup visible to Raphael with a black marker. Somehow, Raphael got the impression that this was not, in fact, the boy's name. Or if it was, he was reconsidering his mild interest.

Raphael wasn't going to approach him, obviously. Even if the context of the situation was removed – and as it stood, the context was that Raphael was sitting in his therapist's waiting room – he wouldn't have started a conversation. Just because he wasn't built for that kind of a life. Some people, he had come to realize, were natural talkers. They took no issue in starting a mindless chat about the weather, or their pet, or how fucking awful their baseball team was this season. They could bore you on _endlessly_.

Along with this observation, Raphael had come to realize that he was the sort of person who a) rarely talked, and b) found small talk unnecessary, and c) was, in fact, quite rude most of the time when forced to speak up. So, he wasn't going to initiate contact. No matter how adorable the boy's glasses were. Or how he was wearing a _Star Wars_ shirt. Or–

"Hey," the boy said abruptly. He looked up from his coffee cup, giving Raphael a hesitant smile. Or at least Raphael thought it was meant to be a smile – it mostly resembled a badly carved Halloween pumpkin with social anxiety.

The boy kept looking at him, expecting a greeting in return. Raphael took a leap of faith and bowed down to social expectations. His therapist was going to be _so_ proud.

"Um. Hi," he replied. Not as smoothly as he'd wanted. Lacking eloquence. Lacking basic fucking communication skills, truthfully.

The boy's horrifying grimace miraculously turned into what looked more like an actual grin.

He had dimples.

Raphael cursed his life and his existence and everything that had led him to meet a cute boy with dimples in the waiting room of his therapist.

"I'm Simon," the boy said. "Not– whatever it says on the cup. They can never get it right, can they? I feel like half of the time they're just fucking with you, 'cause you can't really mishear Simon that badly. Or I guess you can, if you have, um, hearing issues. Do you have hearing issues? I'm sorry if you do. I mean, not that it's a bad thing, just, if I was rude."

There was a long pause during which Raphael stared silently with one eyebrow raised up, and Simon's grin mellowed into a twitchy shadow of a smile.

"Well, anyway, what's your name?" Simon asked, fiddling with his glasses.

Raphael considered not answering. He considered skipping therapy and going straight to bed and sleeping for a week, or two, or a year.

Then Simon took a sip of his coffee and nearly choked on it, muttering ' _what the fuck there's sugar in this'_ under his breath like having sugar in your coffee was the worst thing in the entire world, and Raphael changed his mind.

"I'm Raphael," he introduced, feeling almost glad he didn't somehow manage to butcher his own name. The wire that connected his brain to his mouth felt like it suddenly needed repairing, and ASAP at that.

Simon nodded slowly with a lazy smile, kind of like he was high – maybe he was, who knew? – and stood up. Before Raphael could panic about what he was going to do, he walked over to the trashcan and dropped the nearly full coffee there. Then he returned to his seat, the same exact one he'd had before that was a bit to Raphael's right.

"Sugar in coffee," he said disdainfully, scrunching his nose.

"I agree," Raphael said, not smiling.

"It's like, almost as bad as putting milk, right?"

"Milk in coffee was surely invented by Satan." This time, his lips curled into a tiny smirk.

Simon was nodding again. "That's so true though. It's black or then some super extra shit."

Raphael didn't know what Simon meant with _some super extra shit_ but he hummed in agreement regardless.

The waiting room door opened and a man stepped out, looking like was getting ready for a funeral.

"Lewis?" He asked, his voice like a creaking, rusty door. Simon stood up, nervously wiping his palms against his black jeans.

"Well, see ya," he said to Raphael before following the man through the door.

Raphael stared after him until his own therapist came.

**ii.**

"Fancy running into you again," Simon said nervously, biting his nails. "Raphael, was it?"

Raphael looked up from his phone, frown already set in place. There was nothing _fancy_ about today. He was here when he should've been at home. Well, he shouldn't have been anywhere, actually. He was supposed to not exist. But that was, he supposed, why he _was_ here now.

"Yeah," he drawled. "Hi, Simon."

Simon beamed. "You remembered my name."

"You're hard to forget," Raphael replied, and the smile Simon gave in return was more fit as a response to a compliment than to an insult. Which was what it had been, obviously. Just because he had incredible hair and dimples and manners didn't mean Raphael was _floored_.

Simon sat down on the same row of benches as him, leaving an empty seat between them. Raphael smiled at the gesture.

"So, uh, is it too forward to ask why you're here?" Simon asked, forwardly. Raphael didn't mind.

"I don't mind. They're thinking depression," he told. "Mostly I just feel empty. Today, I want to die. As per usual."

"Oh, yeah," Simon chuckled. "Me too, sometimes. I'm, uh- anxiety disorder. Well, they're not sure whether it's just that or a side effect of something else. I guess we'll have to wait and find out."

Raphael eyed Simon, his smile now gone. He wondered what Simon thought of that. Did he think Raphael was rude? Probably. _Raphael_ thought himself rude. And yet Simon was talking to him, voluntarily. The only other person who talked to Raphael was his therapist, and he was paid to do it.

"I guess we have it easier than some," he opted to say. "Though definitely not easy."

Simon hummed in agreement. "Yeah… I have a friend, he's, uh, bipolar. I don't envy him."

"You have friends?" The question was out before Raphael could think it through, and once it was said, he wanted to run away. Through the window. He wanted to jump out of a window.

But Simon just laughed. "I have a few. I take it you don't?"

"I don't know if you count or not," Raphael admitted. "But, no. I don't. My therapist tells me I need to make some friends. I don't know how."

"You must have someone," Simon prodded. "Like, an _old_ friend at least."

"There used to be," Raphael said idly. "They left. I'm a difficult person."

_You're not fun anymore. You've become distant. You never want to do anything. You're always so tired. Why are you hyperventilating? What's wrong?_

"Is that the truth," Simon asked gently, "or just what they said to you? Because there's a difference."

"It's partially true," Raphael replied. "I don't get along with most. Apparently I'm intimidating."

Simon scoffed. "Well, _I_ don't think so. You seem very approachable. Look at you, talking to me. And, I think we're friends. So you can tell your therapist that."

"Yeah, he'll think it's great progress. I made a friend who's also mentally ill."

"We gotta stick together," Simon shrugged. "I don't have that many friends who aren't burdened with mental health problems. I guess we draw each other in, or something."

"Guess so," Raphael said. "Look, Simon, you're right. I _am_ talking to you. And I don't hate it. Can I have your phone number?"

Simon looked at him, amusement colouring his expression. Then he fished out his phone from his pocket, handing it over to Raphael. Raphael typed his number, and then handed the phone back. Simon typed something, and then Raphael's phone pinged with a new text.

 **From** : _unknown number_ [3:13 pm] i guess i don't hate this either

Raphael looked up and smiled slightly. Simon smiled back.

Then the patient room door opened and Raphael's therapist stepped out.

"Mr. Santiago," he sighed, tiredly. "Let's go discuss your feelings, then?"

**iii.**

Two weeks later, Raphael once again sat down in his therapist's room.

"I've made a friend," Raphael announced brightly. _Brightly_ , for him, meant that he was slightly less apathetic than usual. He even smiled a little. He was practically cheerful.

"Have you, now?" His therapist asked, lifting an eyebrow. He was leaning against his chair with a cup of coffee, sipping it every now and then but refusing to go refill it. Robert was an old man, Raphael estimated. His hair was greying, with tiny spots of black hair still at the very tips of his curls. He wore glasses, which he was repeatedly looking at Raphael over. He fidgeted with them very little, which Raphael took to mean that he was a particularly patient and calm man. He always wore a black button up shirt with jeans, no exceptions.

Raphael liked him well enough. He, if not understood, at least tolerated Raphael.

"He said that we are friends," Raphael told Robert. "And he gave me his number."

"Forward," Robert commented. "Are you interested in him?"

Raphael knew what he was after, and dodged the topic. "He seems like a nice person. I met him in the waiting room."

Robert sighed slightly. "So your only friend also goes to therapy? Excellent. You didn't answer my question."

Raphael rolled his eyes, sipping his tea. "Fine. Yes, I'm interested. He's- aesthetically pleasing to look at."

"That's nice to hear. Though I assume that it's his personality that's drawing you in, and not his looks."

"Once again, doc, you'd be right. You know I don't really care about looks, anyway. But he does have great hair. And dimples."

Robert smiled knowingly. "Ah. Dimples. I remember my first boyfriend- but that's off topic. How do you feel about having a friend?"

Raphael shrugged. "It's- it's okay, so far. We met a few weeks ago. We text. He texts, mostly. We've talked about this and that. His friends. My lack of friends. His school work. My lack of any work. His anxiety, my depression. You know, normal friend stuff."

"Ah, yes. Certainly. That does sound good, though. Is it working for you? You don't feel… chained?"

Raphael shook his head. "No, I feel very free. I've told him I sometimes can't reply because it's too much – he understands. He feels that way, too. So it's all good."

"I'm glad." Robert smiled. He attempted to take a sip of his coffee, only to find the cup empty. He set it on the table. "So. On to the good stuff, then. How've you been?"

"Well," Raphael grimaced. "I'm not actively looking forward to dying right now. I'm just- I'm just drained. I can't get to work, because I can't get up from bed. I'm on sick leave right now."

Robert hummed. "That's alright. We've talked about this – it's alright to have these days."

"It's not alright if they happen all the time," Raphael muttered.

Robert shot him a meaningful look. "I've told you, we could try medication–"

"No." Raphael shook his head. " _Gracias_ , but I cannot. I won't. I've lost people to addiction, and I know it's not the same thing, but I won't be dependent on anything to make me feel better. I just can't."

"I understand." Robert pursed his lips, looking, for all intents and purposes, like he didn't understand. "But it could help. Think about it. Talk to… what was his name?"

"Simon."

"Talk to Simon about it."

Raphael rolled his eyes. He and Simon talked about their issues, yes, but medication hadn't been brought up once. He wasn't going to do it now.

"I don't like talking about it," he said out loud. "I don't know Simon's stance on it. I'll ask."

He wouldn't.

"I'm glad," Robert said.

There was a pleasant silence. Raphael wanted to leave. He enjoyed these visits with Robert, but he also enjoyed curling up in his bed and not moving for hours.

He hated his life. People thought him lazy. He wasn't lazy – he just physically wasn't able to cope.

"I should go," Raphael said eventually.

"It hasn't been long," Robert replied.

"It never is."

**iv.**

**From** : _simon_ [4:23 pm] hey so i thought we could meet up for like coffee or smthing idk

 **From** : _simon_ [4:23 pm] like if you want to but it's completely voluntary

 **From** : _simon_ [4:24 pm] i don't even know if u drink coffee but that's fine i guess

Raphael smiled at his phone, involuntarily. Simon was, in his own nervous sort of way, utterly adorable. His smile turned into a grimace. Simon was adorable. Simon was nice. Simon asked him out for a coffee. Simon was everything Raphael wished he could've been, and more. But Raphael didn't have the time for _feelings._

Well, no. He had nothing but time. But having feelings was complicated, and Raphael didn't like complicated. He was friends with Simon, which was, currently, more than enough for him. Relationships brought difficulties. Raphael's life was already difficult enough, to be honest.

But coffee was just coffee, right? Friends had coffee. Simon wanted them to be friends. He probably was straight, anyways. They all ended up being straight.

Raphael texted back.

 **To** : _simon_ [4:26 pm] Coffee sounds good. Heeley's, tomorrow, 12 am?

He pressed send without really thinking about it. Raphael looked at the calendar he had on his wall. All of the dates were empty, safe for every Wednesday that said "THERAPY" in block letters, followed by a time. Raphael pressed his lips into a disappointed line, shaking his head at the calendar. It used to be full. It used to be he had a life.

 **From** : _simon_ [4:27 pm] sounds good! see u at 12 :)

The smiley face made Raphael regret his life a little bit, but most things did that so he didn't pay it too much attention. He picked up a pen and wrote "COFFEE DATE" on the calendar for the next day. Then he crossed it out, and wrote "PLATONIC COFFEE WITH A FRIEND" instead. Then he felt silly, and crossed that one over too. The slot was already full, so he dropped the pen and ventured off into the kitchen.

His fridge was empty. Well, there was a carton of orange juice, but he figured it was probably well past the expiring date. He needed to go to the store. He needed to figure his life out. He needed a life.

Raphael found post-it notes on one of kitchen drawers, and sat down on the floor with a pen.

_1\. Food_

_2\. Clean up_

_3\. Look for jobs_

_4\. Cry_

_4\. Cook and eat_

_5\. Try to sleep_

Satisfied, Raphael stuck the pink note on the fridge door. His life was a mess, but now he had a to-do list. So maybe it would be fine, in the end.

**v.**

"Thanks for meeting me," Simon said, nervously. It seemed to Raphael that most of the things that Simon did, he did them nervously.

They were sitting at Heeley's, Simon with a caramel frappuccino and Raphael with herbal tea. They were opposite to each other, which had its perks such as no physical contact, but also its cons such as clear view to Simon and his fucking dimples.

Raphael gave a tight-lipped smile. "You make it sound like this is for business," he commented. "We're friends, aren't we?"

Simon laughed, fixing his glasses. "Yeah, um. Friends. Listen, we've known each other for almost a month, now, and I thought- I thought, maybe you should know, um. A thing. About me."

Raphael lifted one carefully plucked eyebrow. Fine, yes, he'd done his make up for this – but just because it was a part of his adjustment programme.

"You're a murderer," he sighed, sipping his tea. "I knew it. You're going to jail."

Simon choked on his coffee. "What? No, no, no. I'm not a- I haven't killed anyone."

Raphael considered him. "Then I don't see what else could make you sound so grave."

Simon licked his lips, glancing around the café and trying very hard to avoid Raphael's eyes. "It's just- well. Um. I hope you're not one of _those_ people, and I don't think you are, but, just, you can never be too careful, right? And, uh, well, I thought, maybe you should know this since it's what makes me, well, _me_ and, you know, you seem to already like me well enough, so- anyways. I'm, uh, I'm pansexual."

Raphael blinked at Simon for a few seconds, befuddled. Then he started laughing.

Simon looked panicked. "Oh my god, are you a homophobe? Please don't tell me that you are, I don't-"

"No," Raphael managed to choke out. " _Amigo_ , listen, listen. I find this funny only because you assume that I myself am straight. Which is hilarious."

It was Simon's turn to blink in confusion. "That you're- so you're not, uh, straight?"

Raphael laughed again. "Simon, please. I do not look like this to be confused for a straight person."

"Oh." Simon was beginning to smile, and he looked relieved. "Oh, okay. I see. I was worried over nothing, then. That's- typical, actually. Very typical." He paused, looking at the table. He was fidgeting with his hands now. "So, um, are you- are you seeing anyone?"

Raphael's face froze, and he was left looking like a terrifying, smiling still picture. Was that platonic? Friends wanted to know if their friends were dating, right?

 _Or maybe he's interested,_ a voice whispered in Raphael's head. _Make a move. What are you so afraid of?_

"Um," he said, eloquently. "I'm not. I'm very single."

"Very single," Simon repeated, smiling. "Good. I mean- me too. I am. Single."

Raphael managed a forceful nod, and then his self-control vanished completely. He was past the point where he needed to consider such things as social norms.

"I really like you," he blurted out. "And I think we're now dancing around the topic, but I'm interested in you. And if you're not, then it's completely fine, and we'll forget this ever happened. But, there."

Simon opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. "I'm- well. I really like you, too. And- um. I was going to ask you out more properly, but- I mean, if you want to, we could… Have dinner?"

Raphael smiled. "Dinner sounds great, Simon."

Simon smiled back, softly.

Raphael thought that maybe they'd be alright.


End file.
